


To Help Stop The Nightmares

by HannahkinSkywalker



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: About as close to fluff as MorMor can get, Drugs, M/M, Nightmares, Seb takes care of Jim, Self indulgence, Sort of MorMor, Unrequited, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahkinSkywalker/pseuds/HannahkinSkywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim suffers from nightmares, and refuses to sleep for fear of them. Eventually, Sebastian puts his foot down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Help Stop The Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Headcanon from here: http://domesticsherlockheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/51541056187/by-anonymous
> 
> Basically I saw this and really wanted to write it. It was rushed an un-Beta'd so please forgive me. Yes it's pathetically short, and it's based off the Jim Moriarty I RP (shh don't tell anyone it's a secret)

 

People often forgot that James Moriarty, contrary to popular belief, was a human being, he’d grown up, he had weakness, he knew fear.

There were things people couldn’t forget, because they didn’t know. Such as the fact that Jim grew up in the Psychiatric ward of what was virtually a juvenile prison. Jim made sure every form of documentation of those five years had been burnt and destroyed beyond recognition.

Even Sebastian didn’t know what went on during Jim’s stint at Maynard’s Correction Facility. He only knew that it did more bad than good, leaving Jim with a fair few scars he would refuse to mention. The sniper could only catch a glimpse of what was going on in Jim’s head when the walls were coming down, when the master criminal was past breaking point. Yet afterwards, no one ever mentioned anything. They didn’t need or want to. They would cope, they always had done. Jim’s fears often came out most prominently during sleep, when he couldn’t stop them or at least hold them back. Sebastian would hear muffled cries of fear through the walls of his own bedroom, and rush through to find the criminal reduced to a wreck, thrashing against invisible tendrils that pushed him down, threatening to suffocate him. Often Jim wouldn’t hear Sebastian’s comforting voice for a while over the din of the voices stuck in his head, whining, murmuring, screaming that this was for his own good, that it would help. Almost every time Sebastian would get too close, and end up pinned under the frantic, now somewhat awake Irishman, still half stuck in some hallucination. Jim would always push himself off the sniper as soon as he realised what was going on, and order the man out of the room. Sebastian was never quite sure if he was upset, or embarrassed, or both, but he never had enough time to find out before Jim threw something at him, saying that he’d meant it.

Don’t assume this was a common thing, certainly not. Jim had trained himself over the years to keep these things at bay as much as physically possible. Of course, sometimes something would change; it could be as simple as the weather, boredom, or Jim giving in to the exhaustion that seemed to follow him around. When it did happen, no matter how rare, Sebastian could always expect one definite.

This time Jim had spoken in his sleep earlier on in the week. He’d cried out, saying he didn’t want it, it would make things worse, and it would hurt like it did before. Sebastian didn’t dare ask exactly what it was. He trusted either Jim would tell him in his own good time, or never at all. Sebastian surprisingly found himself all right with either option. Since the incident, Jim had grown a new sudden fervour for his work. He didn’t eat, didn’t stop for a moment, he was gallivanting across London like a foolhardy teenager, keeping himself distracted for as long as he could. He certainly didn’t sleep. He didn’t dare. Jim was running himself ragged, both men could see this when they spent their little time in the flat together. Sebastian had tried to point out a few options for Jim, leaving subtle hints he knew the other would pick up on, but it was all to no avail. Jim always snapped “I’m fine. Just need time.”

Time. That’s all Jim went on about. Time would heal whatever was wrong with him the best. Sebastian knew this was a blatant lie, but found himself at a loss of what to do, how to at least offer some help to the criminal he owed so much to.

After about five days he decided enough was enough, he’d take matters into his own hands.

Jim had been at the laptop since Sebastian came in from the most recent job two hours ago. He’d barely even acknowledged the sniper’s presence, and was typing furiously into the keyboard. So much so, Sebastian was almost worried there’d be damage to it by the time he was done. After a short while, Sebastian decided to take his opportunity. At times like these Sebastian could actually get Jim to eat and drink properly without the other realising much. He’d just put down a small sandwich or something and Jim’s body would give in to autopilot, and eat it without a single complaint. This was exactly what Sebastian did today. He went through to the kitchen, and made the two of them some tea. As the kettle was brewing, he took the opportunity of the sound to quickly open the medicine cabinet and rifle through the sedatives. He picked up the one he was looking for, scribed as _zolpidem tartrate,_ whatever that was. But he’d seen its effects on others. This would do for Jim. He dissolved the little pill in with Jim’s tea, and doused it in sugar, knowing the sweet-toothed criminal wouldn’t notice. At least not until it started to work. But he’d deal with that later. At the moment he just needed to get Jim to rest, even if it was just for a few hours.

He silently placed the mug of tea beside Jim’s laptop, on the table the Irishman was working at, and sat down reasonably close by. The open planned flat meant he could easily keep an eye out. He noticed how Jim took a sip of the piping hot tea, not at all fazed, unaware of what was in it. Sebastian was under the pretences of reading the most boring book he’d ever held in his hands, though he kept an eye trained on Jim. He estimated the criminal was about halfway through the tea when his body began to relax. His hands weren’t quite obeying him at the keys, and he made a few typos as he went. Sebastian watched on as Jim shook his head slightly, standing up to take a few paces away from the laptop. Something he did when he found he was struggling to keep it together. So Jim just thought he was getting stressed, not for long, at least. Sebastian finally stood up when Jim stumbled slightly, leaning against the table again. The sniper moved over to him, his head angling itself so he could get a better view. “Jim?” He said softly, not giving anything away.

“I don’t know.” Jim slurred, looking away from Sebastian. “I don’t know what’s come over me, it’s just-” As he tried to straighten up he stumbled again, this time with Sebastian to catch and support him. “It’s all right, boss. Just get some rest. You look awful.” Sebastian muttered, knowing he was the only one who could survive speaking out of turn against Jim.

It seemed that hadn’t been the right thing to say, as Jim looked up and Sebastian could see the realisation dawn on his face. “You didn’t.” He half growled, already slowed by the drug coursing through his system. Jim tried to pull away from the sniper, but it seemed there wasn’t enough strength to do it. Sebastian remained holding his boss up, half assisting/half dragging him to his bedroom. He murmured a few words of encouragement. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, boss. You’re all right; you just need to rest for a while. You’ve exhausted yourself, Jim.” Sebastian said in his normal tone. He’d heard some of the replies Jim gave to the voices he must have heard in nightmares, and didn’t want to end up sounding like a replica of them.

Of course, Jim took no notice. He was too busy listing a string of slurred threats to Sebastian, fighting off the drug that was making him fall faster; lean heavier against Sebastian’s torso as he was pushed along. By the time Sebastian nudged the door open, Jim’s speech was practically unintelligible, a suddenly stronger Dublin accent working at high speed. Sebastian managed to catch glimpses of “Feckin’ English Bastard” and “I’ll gut you and feed your own entrails...” He even heard some garbled description of castrating him with a spoon. They were only a few feet from the bed when Jim dropped completely out for the count while Sebastian caught the smaller man and lifted him onto the bed. It was no hardship, not with the sheer size difference between the two of them. He placed Jim onto the bed, settling the covers down over him. He stood there for a moment, before deciding to sit with Jim until he came around again, preparing to explain himself and make sure the other was all right. He’d needed this rest, both men knew it, and eventually, even if it took a minute, an hour, or a day Jim would see eye to eye with Sebastian on this. He’d never mention it, but they’d both know. 

He was left feeling slightly guilty that he’d drugged his own boss, but he’d do anything to make sure the criminal didn’t run himself into the ground. After all, that was what you did for people you loved, wasn’t it? 


End file.
